


STOP! in the name of love

by Winter_Stan_107 (Thedouph)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Love, M/M, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, criminal!Bucky, officer!Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 20:34:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11813697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thedouph/pseuds/Winter_Stan_107
Summary: It was just a routine day on the job for Officer Steve Rogers. He'd been on call lounging around at home when he'd gotten a distress call coming from downtown about an armed man who’d broken in and robbed a jewelry store, killing several people. It was just a routine day on the job when he arrived at the location and jumped out of the police car, gun aimed towards the man who's back was turned as he shielded himself with the car door, yelling at him to drop his weapon. It was just a routine day on the job, until the man turned around, and Steve's world was quickly flipped upside down.





	1. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter song: ‘Never be alone’ by Shawn Mendes

 

 

 

_I promise that one day,_

_I’ll be around,_

_I’ll keep you safe,_

_I’ll keep you sound._

 

_"Bucky...  we got the report back from the doctor..."_

"What'd they say?" 

Bucky glanced down at his packed bags, listening to Steve's tired voice on the phone. His entire life, suddenly being torn away from him just because of his dad's stupid job with the military. They were moving _again_ , but for the first time in his life, Bucky had a reason to stay.

Steve's reply came, soft and interrupted by a hoarse cough. _"...I only have a few weeks left, Buck."_

"Come on, James! Taxi's going to be here any minute!"

But suddenly Bucky couldn't move. Steve's words had hit him like a bullet to his heart.

It was said that if you’re shot, there are several long moments where you don’t feel a thing. Several long moment short of trying to figure out if the bullet had actually hit you, or if you’d just felt it go by. Everything would feel numb, but eventually the pain would catch up, leading into the most agonizing moments of your life.

This was how Bucky felt right now. Numb. Soon enough Steve’s words started settling in...and then he felt the pain.

The problem with Steve was, he was sick. Years of chemo had done nothing but slow down the battle he would inevitably lose.

“Years from now,” the doctors had said. “He will be well into his 30's before the cancer starts taking it's toll.”

Steve wasn't 30, though. He was 13.

And Bucky didn't even know when he'd started crying, but the tears were now steadily flowing down his cheeks as Steve begged him not to cry through the phone.

"Give me a few minutes," He managed at last. "I'll be right over."  Bucky hung up the phone before Steve could object, letting out a shaky breath and grabbing his bags. He dropped them on the front porch before racing off towards Steve's house, ignoring his mother's yells.

Yes, he knew their ride was almost here, but he wasn't going to miss the chance to say goodbye to his best friend, the boy he'd given his heart to, knowing he'd never see him again...

....because in just a few weeks, Steve would be _dead_.

Bucky sprinted the two blocks over to Steve's house, knocking on the door as he held back his tears.

As soon as the door opened, Bucky knew, without a doubt, that the news was true. Sarah Rogers, usually such a strong woman, was a mess. Her blonde hair was tangled and unbrushed, eyes red from crying, and looked to be at least 10 years older. "He's upstairs," Sarah managed through a sob, stepping aside to let Bucky pass.

Bucky bolted past, taking the stairs 2 at a time in his hurry to make it to Steve. As far as he was concerned, a world without Steve wasn't a world he was prepared to live in.

Bursting into Steve's room, he immediately located the blonde sitting up in his bed, face lighting up upon seeing Bucky. Despite his even breaths and the gleam in his eyes, Bucky could tell that he'd been crying.

"Hey Jerk," The blond greeted with a smirk, one Bucky had seen more times than he could ever count. "Come to wish me off?"

Bucky slowly walked over, head shaking slowly. "Cut the act, Rogers..." 

He was trying. He was trying so hard, but despite his attempts, the tears were threatening to come, anyway.

Reaching Steve's bed, he sat down, wrapping his frail, skinny body in his arms.

Steve hugged him back weakly, and Bucky finally broke, tears pouring from his eyes as he sobbed into Steve's shoulder.

"It's okay, Bucky... you're going to be okay without me."

Small hands came up to softly stroke his hair, and suddenly Bucky felt so, so small.

"You'll move on with your life, find some other little punk to protect. You'll find someone who deserves you so much more than I do."

And that's where Steve was wrong. He deserved so much more than Bucky. More than he could ever give him. He was nothing compared to Steve, a boy with enough courage and bravery to face a lion. A boy who stood up for what he believed was right, no matter the consequences .

"No," he murmured, trembling in Steve's arms. "I'll never find someone like you. I don't want to find someone else other than you."

Steve said nothing, wiping the tears from his eyes as he leaned down and kissed his forehead.

He continued to hold onto Steve as he sobbed, gripping onto him like a lifeline. "I can't lose you..."

 

 

_Hey, I know there are some things_

_we need to talk about._

_And I can’t stay,_

_just let me hold you_

_for a little longer now._

 

Muffled voices drifted up from downstairs, unmistakably belonging to his mother.

"I love you, Bucky... and that will never change. I'll always love you."

This was Steve saying _goodbye_.

Those were the last words he heard from Steve, as suddenly he was being dragged out of the room by his parents, both of them furious with him for running off.

He turned around one last time to see Steve finally breaking, hunching over as he let his tears flow.

He'd stayed strong in front of Bucky, but Bucky had seen right through him. All it had been was an act. "I'm with you 'till the end of the line, punk." He murmured, disappearing around the corner and losing Steve from his sight.

—— —— ——

Bucky called Steve every day, listening as his voice grew weaker and weaker with each call. Then, one evening as Bucky was sitting out on the patio of his new house, Steve didn't answer.

Bucky didn't call again, knowing he would never be able to handle hearing the news that Steve had died.

... It had been exactly 3 weeks.

 

 

_Take a piece of my heart,_

_and make It all your own,_

_so when we are apart,_

_you’ll never be alone._

 

—— —— —— ——

  
20 years later, Bucky would find himself staring down the end of a gun barrel, one belonging to a man he swore he knew from _somewhere_.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

A day off really wasn't something Steve got. Just like today, he was technically "off," but the second his work phone rang, he had about 5 minutes to change and be out the door to give him even a chance of arriving at the scene in time. 

On this particular day, he'd chosen to spend it doing one of his favorite hobbies. Art. He was currently painting a landscape of the Brooklyn Bridge, using watercolor to help capture the multicolor sky as well as the water. He had to admit, he was good. The painting looked identical to the picture itself.

Groaning with annoyance Steve pulled away from the canvas, the blaring sound of an incoming call setting off the 5 minutes he had to get ready. No time to put away the paint. The most he could do was cover it up and hope it didn't dry out. Tossing the brushes into the cup of water he raced to his room, pulling his uniform on over his clothes, shoving his feet into his boots, and racing out with a minute to spare. 

He could already make out police sirens in the distance, but he figured he'd still arrive first. The location was just a block or two from where he lived. He quickly read through the details: a man had broken into a jewelry store, shooting several people and had taken off with hundreds of dollars in cash.

Steve turned a sharp corner, sirens blaring as he located the man whose back was turned to him, running at a swift pace with a backpack strapped to his back and a gun in each hand. The man appeared to be the stereotypical criminal: He had long, dark brown hair reaching down to his shoulders, with a tattoo covering from shoulder to wrist giving the illusion of a metal arm. 

It was clear the man heard the sirens, though he seemed to have no intention of stopping. Steve was fed up with people like him. Men who had no respect for the law and just resisted the inevitable. It was annoying as hell, and only made more work for the officers like himself. All Steve wanted to do was dump this guy off at jail, go home and get back to his painting. 

Pulling over, Steve jumped out of the car, cocking his gun and raising it towards the man, shielding his body with the door in case the man decided to shoot. "Stop in the name of the law!" He shouted. "This is the New York police depart and you're under arrest! Drop your weapon and get on the ground!" 

Steve expected the man to take off sprinting in the other direction. Having killed several people and robbing a jewelry store, he wouldn't be surprised if the man was sentenced to death. The man surprised him, though, turning around, and- 

BANG

The bullet hit the window, just inches from where his forearm was resting.

Steve didn't even flinch, eyes wide and jaw gaping open, gaze glued to the man, his face now visible as he slowly lowered his gun. 

A man who was barely recognizable through the darkness of his gaze, and the long hair framing his face. Changed by the ink against his skin and the ruggedness of his clothes.

Unrecognizable, if not for his eyes blue gaze, reminding Steve of the water in his painting, similar in it’s color, yet no longer shining like the sun reflecting against the surface.

He knew this man... a man who looked to have seen more hardship than anyone should have to endure. A man who's face screamed defeat, having admitted to losing his fight against life. A man... he'd once given his heart to, so many years ago. Who he'd looked up to, laying on his death bed and waiting out the final hours of his life. 

All at once time seemed to slow down, heart pounding and gun falling to his side.

Despite the cold hearted look in his eyes and his hardened gaze, Steve knew that face from anywhere.

"...Bucky?"


	3. Chapter 3

_"Bucky?"_

James froze, lowering the gun to his side as the name echoed in his ears. A name last used by his father, though he had died.

...just like everyone else in his life.

What he hadn't figured out yet, was why the officer hadn't fired back after he'd nearly been shot. He had intended to hit the officer, but had misjudged the aim, missing by just an inch or two.

Now, James has seen his fair share of officers. Been to jail enough times to write a novel on what the inside of a prison cell looked like.

While planning his latest heist, he concluded that there was maybe a 20% chance that he could actually get away with it.

But then, people got in the way, shots were fired, bodies dropped...it was all a bit of a blur. He really hadn't intended to kill anyone. It had just happened.

The thing about James was, nothing really mattered to him anymore. His life had gone to shit early on in his teen years. It had started with the death of his best friend, the love of his life. The boy who he would have given his life for without hesitation, but never got the chance.

His parents both worked in the military. His mother worked as a nurse in a TB ward and eventually died after catching a disease. His father had died of mustard gas soon after, but by then James was old enough to live on his own.

He'd tried playing the game of life for awhile. Went to college and got a job, but that had only lasted so long. The grief caught up to him, and day by day he started giving up.

Quitting college didn't really affect him. He rarely made an appearance at any of his classes, anyway, and was easily failing the majority of them. He was able to keep up his job for several years, earning just enough to pay rent and keep the groceries coming in, but eventually, he quit his job, too.

Desperate for money and developing a burning hatred for life, James took the easy rode. He started stealing, starting with food. Leaving fancy restaurants and not paying, ordering food in a drive through and taking off before they could ask for money. Pretty soon one thing led to another, and he found himself holding a woman at gun point as he ordered her to empty the money from the cashier into his bag.

36 hours later he got his first look at the inside of a prison.

Several months later he'd been released, but what was the point of redemption when you had nothing to live for?

Just a few weeks later he visited jail for the second time, only 19 years old.

By the age of 30 he'd been arrested dozens of times and had been spent more days in jail than he had out.

Why they continued to let him go, he couldn't figure out. He'd only be coming right back as soon as they caught him.

Now here he was, standing in front of this officer who didn't seem to want to arrest him any more? Hello, he'd just killed like 3 people? The man was just staring at him, and James was still trying to figure out how this guy even knew his name.

James smirked, dropping the gun. "Should I get in the car, or...?"

The officer stepped away from the car door, struggling to form words.

"I mean if you want to let me go that's cool, too. Rather not spend my birthday in jail...again." He rolled his eyes. Yep. March 10th, turning 35.  "Dude, would you get yourself together and just arrest me already?"

The officer began walking over, slipping his handgun back into its holster, gaze wide and looking at James as if he was some long lost puppy.

"...Bucky it's _me_."

James narrowed his eyes. He studied the officer, a man standing easily at 6 feet with blond hair and bright blue eyes.

Something flickered at the edge of his memory. This man looked _healthy_. As if he shouldn't be. As if the light in his eyes shouldn't be shining as bright. As if his skin should be washed out, lacking any color.

The officer continued making his way closer, step by step.

The sirens blared noisily from just around the corner, and soon enough their flashing lights appeared in view.

James wondered how long his sentence would be, this time. He’d never killed anyone before, but remembered the sentence for murder being about 65 years. At least he'd get a life time of free food.

The officer was just a few feet from him, and James was able to really look at him.

"It's me," the man had said. As if James should know who he is.

"It's _Steve_."

And all at once James heart stopped. The world was spinning and not moving at all at the same time. He was yanked back to his childhood so hard it felt like whiplash. His legs gave out and he crumpled down to his knees, staring up at the one person that had ever mattered to him.

He couldn't find words. He tried to speak but his mouth wouldn't move. Suddenly the cop cars were everywhere, officers jumping out of their cars and swarming around him, while Steve- Steve Rogers, the man who was supposed to be _dead_ , was doing nothing but staring down at him, mirroring his shock.

His purpose for living was _alive_ , and James suddenly realized that there was no way in hell he was going back to jail.

he had so many questions. _How??_ There was no possible way Steve had beaten the cancer. No way he was standing just a foot in front of him, wearing a uniform and _protecting_  people. He wasn’t skinny anymore. Quite the opposite, in fact. He looked ripped. Built with muscles that shouldn’t _be_ there. How this was even the same man he’d been in love with all those years ago, he didn’t have a clue, yet here he was, face to face with Steven Grant fucking _Rogers_.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, exploding to his feet with his gun in hand and firing at anything that moved. Bodies dropped down, bullet hitting each target with accurate precision. He took off running, tossing one final look back at Steve and meeting his gaze. He was going home, and hoped to hell that Steve would know where to find him.


	4. He’s got a bad reputation

_She's got a bad reputation_   
_Nobody gets too close_   
_A sight of a soul when it's breaking_   
_Making my heart grow cold_   
_And into the deeper she's sinking_   
_I'm begging her "please, don't let go."_   
_She's got a bad reputation_   
_But she's all that I want, all I want though_

Steve couldn't _move_. His gaze remaining transfixed on the form of Bucky Barnes, slowly disappearing from sight, until he was gone.

So many mixed emotions flooded through him, unable to process what he'd just seen. He was in shock, but despite it all, he felt the familiar tug of his heart strings, once owned by the man who is currently New York Cities most wanted.

A soft groan from behind him yanked him harshly back to reality, and he turned around to see he was the only remaining officer still standing.

Blood.  
Bodies.  
Were they dead?  
Movement.  
They were not.

...Bucky hadn't killed _any_ of them.

He'd managed to successfully shoot all of them, rendering them immobile, but each bullet had landed away from any vital organs as far as Steve was able to tell.

Officer Romanoff was painfully clutching her shoulder, and Officer Banner had been shot near his foot.

Where had Bucky learned to shoot with such precision?

_Get it together, Rogers! Your teammates are dying._

Right.

Steve quickly snapped into action, pulling out his radio and requesting immediate medical assistance. There were at least 6 officers that had been shot, reaching critical condition, yet they were all still alive.

Maybe he was reading too far into it, but it seemed like this was Bucky's way of leaving him a message. Telling Steve that there was still good left in him.

Or maybe it was just wishful thinking.

He hadn't killed any of the officers for a reason. He didn't _want_ to kill any of them. He just needed to get away, and shooting them had been his only option.

Taking a deep breath he located the officer nearest to him, painfully gripping his leg, right above where he'd been shot in the thigh.

"Wilson!" Steve raced over, dropping down beside him and assessing the shot. No exit wound. The bullet was still inside his leg. "You're going to be okay, Sam. The ambulance is on its way."

Officer Wilson opened his eyes, nothing but pain in his dark brown hues. "How the hell were you not shot? You were standing right in front of the guy."

Steve shook his head, shrugging. "No clue. Just lucky, I guess."

Sam groaned, head resting against the pavement as he gritted his teeth in pain. "I don't know if that's luck, kid. The dude was looking at you like he-"

The dark skinned man grunted, shutting his eyes tightly as Steve pressed down on the wound, desperately trying to stop the bleeding. "It was just luck, Sam." He repeated. "I've never seen that guy a day in my life before today."

And that was partly true. The man he had seen today was a far cry from the Bucky Barnes he'd once known. This man... he seemed to come from a dark place, filled with hardship and struggles. Whatever had happened to Bucky after he moved away...after his last call... whatever had turned him into the person he was today, Steve knew had to be a powerful force. It had stripped away a man filled with nothing but love and kindness for the world, leaving... someone else.

Because Steve knew Bucky Barnes.

And Bucky Barnes wasn't a bad person.

And I don't care what they  
Say about you, baby  
They don't know what you've  
been through

Steve made a quick round to the rest of the officers, assessing each of their wounds as they waited for help to arrive.

Eventually, the ambulances arrived and the officers were all loaded into the back.

Steve was lost in his head, though. Trying to piece together the thousand piece puzzle of Bucky Barnes.

What he knew for sure, was Bucky had just gotten himself put on high alert. The entire jurisdiction would be after him, now, searching for the assassin with long hair and tattoo covered arm.

They would never find him, though, because Steve would do everything in his power to make sure he got there first.

\-- -- --

The soft sound of footsteps startled Steve and he quickly turned around, gaze falling on Officer Wilson. With the aid of a cruch, he limped over, concern etching his tired features. "You alright, man? Your shift finished hours ago."

After returning to the department, Steve had immediately delved into any files relating to that of James Buchanan Barnes. They dated back years, the first being in 2001. Bucky would have been 19.

"Yeah, i'm fine." He laughed softly. "I should actually be asking you the same. How's the leg?"

Sam rolled his eyes, leaning against the wall. "This ain't my first rhodeo, Rogers." He paused, gaze drifting off into space, staring at something off into the distance. "First time I ever saw somethin' like that, though. According to Romanoff, she's dealt with him on numerous occasions, before. She has a nasty tattoo on her stomach from where he shot her years ago."

Steve raised his eyebrow, turning back to the files. "Yeah...the guy sure as hell has a record. Been to just about every jail in New York."

"I wouldn't worry about it, man. They're sending a team out for him first thing in the morning. I think they're planning on taking him to the psych ward, and hopefully death row. "

Steve's gaze shot up, fear gripping his heart. "They're giving him the death penalty?"

"Uh..." Officer Wilson gave him an odd look. "I mean, It'd be a mistake not to. If a guy like that got out, there's no telling _what_ he'd do."

Steve nodded, falling silent. With any other person, he'd completely agree... Except, this wasn't any other person. This was Bucky Barnes.

"Alright, well I'm heading out. You workin' tomorrow?"

Steve nodded. "You?"

Sam chuckled. "Nah, i'll be out for a few days. The doctors don't want the wound being opened back up."

Steve saluted him off, watching as he walked out before turning his attention back to the files. As his gaze skimmed over each one, his heart shattered more and more. Mostly theft and DUI's, Steve found himself letting out a breath of relief seeing as the murders that had taken place today were a first for Bucky.

Glancing at the clock, Steve realized he'd only have a few hours to look for the brunette before it got dark. Shoving his phone in his pockets and grabbing the files along with his keys he walked out, switching off the lights and locking the door.

Steve stopped by his apartment, switching cars and getting into his beat down suburban. He figured he'd never have the slightest chance of finding Bucky driving around in a police car.

__ __

An hour later of driving around, Steve was no closer than when he'd started. He'd driven up and down every street within five blocks of where the incident had taken place earlier that day, with no luck.

Staring at his phone, he mentally debated whether or not to call the one person he knew he could trust with this. Sighing in defeat he dialed Officer Wilson's number, head leaning back against the seat as the phone rang, finally picking up on the third ring.

_"Rogers?"_

"Hey Sam..." Steve bit his lip, nails drumming against the steering wheel. "I...I've got a confession."

Sam was quiet for several long beats, finally speaking up. _"Okay, I'm listening."_

Letting out a breath he started explaining his story, gut twisting uneasily. "The man who shot you... I grew up with him. Sam, I was in love with him. I had a rough childhood and n-nearly..." He trailed off, voice cracking as he thought back to the toughest part of his life. "I nearly died from cancer, but Bucky was always there for me, 'till he moved away."

Steve could tell that Sam was shocked. He'd never mentioned any of what he'd just told the man, despite how close they were, since Steve 's childhood was a closely guarded secret. He could tell Sam had no intention of replying until he was finished, so taking a breath, he continued.

"...I know what he did. I know he killed people, an-"

_"-He took down our entire team of officers without breaking a sweat. He stole hundreds of dollars and killed people, Steve. Men and woman are dead now because of your friend. After all of this, you expect me to help you? Steve, I could lose my job! You could lose your job."_

"Do you think I haven't thought about that already?" Sighing he ran a hand through his hair, choosing his next words carefully. "Sam... i know Bucky Barnes... this isn't him. He's changed..."

_"That's what people do, Rogers. They change."_

...not like this.

_"Your buddy isn't the person you once knew. He's his own man now, making his own choices, and I'm sure he's perfectly aware of the consequences."_

a pause.

_"...There's no way I'm going to be able to convince you out of this, is there?"_

"Not a chance." His mind had been made up the second Bucky had turned around.

_"Well, you're either going to lose your job or die. Probably both, so first of all, it was nice knowing you...second of all...Might as well help you go down."_

Steve released a breath of relief. "Thank you, Sam. You won't regret this."

" _Yes, I will, but if it means this much to you... I'll do it."_

Bucky might not be the man he was 20 years ago, but Steve believed that somewhere, there was still a little bit of that boy left. The boy who would hold him for hours when he was sick. Who would pull him out of fights that he was convinced he could handle. The one that Steve loved with all of his heart.

" _So, when do we start?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please please please, don’t be afraid to leave constructive criticism! If you feel that some parts of this story no longer seem logical, or that they should have gone a different way, let me know! I’m always looking for ways to improve. It’s also okay to tell me you loved it and are excited for more. You’ll definitely make my day :)


	5. Got a feelin’ that I’m going under

I thought that I'd been hurt before  
But no one's ever left me quite this sore  
Your words cut deeper than a knife  
Now I need someone to breath me back to life

Bucky has been on the run since leaving Steve and the rest of the officers he'd shot. What he hadn't let any of then notice, though, was _he_ had been shot, too. At this point the pain was blinding. Every movement of his shoulder brought fresh new waves of excruciating agony. He hadn't been able to tell where the bullet had come from, but in the midst of the numerous rounds he'd fired at the officers, one of them had managed to land a bullet right into his shoulder. If he had to guess, he'd say it was the blonde, female officer. Officer Carter, one of the others had called her. Not that it really mattered, anyway.

He regretted taking that final glance back at the scene. Not because of seeing all the officers that he'd hurt, or knowing it was because he had been the one to cause it, but what felt like a knife to his heart, was seeing the utter and complete disappointment in Steve's gaze when their eyes locked for that split second. He'd been unable to shake the image from his mind after that.

He was vaguely aware that if he kept up his journey on foot, he might make it another half mile or so.He just needed to make it to Brooklyn, another 3 miles according to the street signs. The problem was he'd had to abandon the backpack of money. The amount of added weight he was hauling around did nothing but slow him down, and he surely wouldn't have made it half this far had he kept it.

To make matters worse, every officer within a fifty mile radius was now on the hunt for him, meaning he had no choice but to stay in the shadows. For once, he had to be grateful for the incoming darkness of night.

James groaned softly, legs buckling as the pain worsened. He was actively aware of the blood dripping down his arm and back, soaking through his shirt. He must look like something straight out of a horror film. What was possibly worse than the pain itself, was how _cold_ he felt. Spreading throughout his body, a flashing red warning sign telling him his organs were beginning to shut down.

At least he learned _something_ in college.

Clenching his jaw, he forced himself to his feet, head spinning with the loss of blood. He assumed it was at least a pint by now. He didn't have much longer. Suddenly those extra few miles to Brooklyn seemed like a thousand. Taking a deep breath through the pain he continued on, step by step.

Going to a hospital wasn't an option. Sure, he'd survive, but the officers would be alerted as soon as they figured out who he was, meaning a life time in jail.

His only prayer was that Steve would come through. That he'd know where to find him. James had faith. Faith that if Steve chose to look for him, he'd search in the one place James had ever called _home_.

As James passed by several homes, his gaze landed on a bike leaning against a front porch, unattended. A stolen item would be the consequence of irresponsible children, he concluded, but then a second thought hit him.

He didn't _want_ to be this person anymore. The man who saw jail on a regular basis, expecting nothing less. He no longer wanted to be the man who brought everyone else pain, because he never gained a thing out of it. Grabbing a receipt from his pocket he struggled over to the porch, grabbing a pen and scribbling what he hoped could be read as 'WILL RETURN.'

It was better than nothing, he decided, and might just be what saves his life. Leaving the paper in place of the bike, he placed a small rock on it so it wouldn't blow away, before grabbing the bike and taking off.  
•••  
30 minutes later he was pulling up to his childhood home, long since abandoned and looking as if it would be leveled soon to make way for new, fresher homes. The night had fully set in by now as he stumbled in, pushing past the door and crumpling to the ground.

It was all up to Steve, now.

Otherwise...no better place die than back home.

 _You watch me bleed until I can't breath_  
I'm shaking falling onto my knees  
And now that I'm without your kisses  
I'll be needed stitches  
I'm tripping over myself  
I'm aching, begging you to come help  
And now that I'm without your kisses  
I'll be needed stitches

  
———  
He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but the pain, originally starting in his shoulder, was everywhere. He felt it in his head, and all the way down to his feet. Spreading through every vein and cell in his body. Low voices pulled him out of his pain filled stupor, and he blinked open his eyes, making out approaching lights from outside. He was vaguely aware of the pool of blood he was laying in, but as the door opened, his heart dropped.

It was one of the officer's he'd shot. They'd found him and had come to take him in. "No," he pleaded softly, voice hoarse and barely audible. He'd rather die than live the rest of his life in jail.

The officer stepped all the way into the room and suddenly the flashlight was on him. It was over now.

"Steve! I found him!" The officer shouted, and suddenly a second flashlight joined his, followed by the sound of heavy footsteps against the floor.

Had he heard correctly? He wasn't sure if any of this was even happening or if it was all his imagination. He kept fading in and out of consciousness.

"....I'm.....Bucky.... it's.Steve...."

The voice sounded like a distant echo in the back of his mind. Was that Steve? Had he come? Bucky didn't have enough time to figure it out, because suddenly strong arms were picking him up and the world faded to black.

_Got a feelin' that I'm going under  
But I know that I'll make it out alive_

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment and tell me what you think!


End file.
